


The Game of Love

by queen_luna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-01 16:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_luna/pseuds/queen_luna
Summary: When Harry and Ron sign Hermione up for a show called The Game of Love, she is whisked away to an aristocratic manor where she competes against forty-nine other women for the heart of one bachelor. Will she find love? Is that even possible, considering the history she’s had with the bachelor? Inspired by the ABC series The Bachelor. Originally posted on HPFF in 2008/2009.





	1. The Beginning of It All

"D'you think she'll get mad?" Ron Weasley whispered anxiously as he took a pink sheet of parchment titled _Do You Want To Be In The Game of Love?_ out of an envelope that had been delivered to him by owl post that morning.

"Of course she'll get mad," his best friend Harry Potter whispered back. "The thing is, this is for her own good and she'll thank us later for it." He took out a battered quill from his pocket and unscrewed a bottle of ink.

"You write it," said Ron fervently, "your handwriting is better than mine."

Harry rolled his bright green eyes. "Fine. Just help me fill this out quick."

The first blank was easy. Under NAME, he wrote _Hermione Granger_. The second and third were also easy. Under AGE, he wrote _24_ and beneath EDUCATION he scribbled _Hogwarts (graduated at the top of the class, most brilliant witch of my age)_. The fourth was a bit difficult. The question was, DESCRIBE YOUR APPEARANCE. They didn't want to exaggerate, but they didn't want the judges, or whoever picked the contestants, to pass her up either. In the end he wrote _, curly brown hair, brown eyes, 5' 6", slender, very pretty_. He added a picture just in case. The photo was moving, of course, and Hermione was scowling at them as if she knew what they were doing. The next question, DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY, was also hard, and so was WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN THE OPPOSITE SEX? By the time they were done filling out the little questionnaire, they were exhausted.

Ron sent the pink parchment back to the Game of Love headquarters just as his girlfriend of three years, Lavender Brown, walked in, yawning and stretching. She noticed Ron and Harry's guilty faces and narrowed her eyes. "What did you guys just do?"

"N-nothing!" said Ron.

"See you later mate," said Harry hastily, clapping a hand onto Ron's shoulder. He nodded to Lavender and then quickly left before his wife, Ginny Potter, became suspicious as well.

_A week later…_

A loud tapping noise caused Hermione to raise her head from her cup of coffee, which she had almost fallen asleep in. She looked up and saw the most ridiculous owl she had ever seen in her life fluttering on the other side of the kitchen window. The owl's feathers were various shades of hideous pink and it had a red ribbon tied around its neck (do owls have necks?). Shaking her head, Hermione let the owl in and untied the scroll of parchment. The owl hooted disdainfully, looking a disheveled Hermione up and down. Hermione scowled and slammed the window shut after shooing the owl back out. She unrolled the scented pink parchment, read what it said, and then sat down in a daze. 

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_You have been chosen to compete in the first-ever season of the Game of Love with 49 other women. The objective is to win the heart of our handsome bachelor, ***** ****** (his name is highly classified information). The show will air on WizardVision next spring. The competition begins in a week. You will, of course, attend the ball. An official invitation will be sent soon. It will be a masquerade, so please dress accordingly. At the end of the night, 25 women will remain. And when we say 'of course,' it means you are magically bound to take part in the Game of Love. Our handsome bachelor cannot wait to meet you. See you soon! Au revoir!_

_M. Claude Beaumont_

_Chief Executive Officer of The Game of Love, Co.; So You Think You Can Duel?, Co.; Living Like A Muggle: The Reality WizardVision Series, Co.; and other affiliated companies._

"What...the…bloody…hell." Hermione set the letter down. This had to be a stupid prank. Maybe Fred…or George…or the both of them.

As if on cue, the door to her small London flat burst open and a redheaded man stumbled in, though it was not one of the prank-loving twins. It was Ron Weasley, and right behind him was Harry Potter.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Hello, boys," she said pleasantly enough, hiding the letter behind her back. She didn't want them to jump to conclusions, after all.

"Hi," said Harry. Ron attempted to smile.

"Er…is something the matter?" said Hermione.

"Oh, er, we were just wondering, did you, um, receive a letter by owl post this morning?" said Harry.

Suspicion hit Hermione very hard. She said, in a voice of forced calmness, "What sort of letter?"

"A letter from…ah…yes, a letter like that." Ron caught sight of the pink parchment Hermione held up and braced himself for an explosion.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WERE YOU TWO THINKING, SIGNING ME UP FOR SOME STUPID SHOW? I DON'T NEED TO PLAY THE GAME OF LOVE, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!"

Harry and Ron cringed. "We…we thought it'd be for your own good…."

"MY OWN GOOD?!" Hermione shrieked. "I DON'T WANT TO COMPETE WITH OTHER SUPERFICIAL WOMEN FOR A STUPID BACHELOR!"

"We were worried about you, Hermione…all you do is work, work, and work. You don't come out with us anymore, you don't see your friends…you need a…a…" Ron's voice trailed off.

"A love life," finished Harry.

Hermione calmed down a little. "Well, thank you very much for your concern," she said, "but don't you think you could have asked me about this first? According to this letter, I can't decline—I'm magically bound to attend this bloody masquerade!"

"You—you would have said no," said Ron in a small voice. He brightened a little. "But masquerades are cool…you'll have lots of fun." He smiled hopefully.

Hermione sighed, shook her head of messy dark brown curls, and smiled slightly. "So…I'm going to be on _The Game of Love_." She remembered the mushy reality TV shows her mum used to watch and cry over and then tell her about. Now she was going to be a contestant on one of them. A sudden thought struck her, and she smiled evilly. "Hey…if I act absolutely abominable, then the bachelor, whoever he is, won't choose me…and I can leave after one night!"

"No!" cried Harry.

"Hermione, please…just be yourself. At least try…for us…." Ron made a sad puppy-dog expression and Harry hastily rearranged his face to copy him.

Hermione closed her eyes a little wearily. "Fine," she said at last. "I'll do it." She paused. "I can't believe I just said that." 

There was a pause.

"Well, this has been a fun morning!" said Harry. "But I have to get to the Auror office—"

"MERLIN’S PANTS! WORK! I'M GOING TO BE LATE!" With that Hermione dashed to her bedroom to change, leaving Harry and Ron to stare after her sheepishly.


	2. A Day with Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for my high school French.

Hermione was incredibly stressed out. She had forgotten all about the ball and the stupid show until now, two days before the scheduled masquerade was to take place. She needed a dress! She needed to fix her hair! She needed to find a bloody mask!   
  
She glanced at her refrigerator. Stuck to the door with a magnet was a very fancy invitation. It has a rose wax seal, and it was written in deep red ink on heavy scented parchment. She sighed. She had nothing to wear to the ball.   
  
Against her better judgement, she called Ginny Potter over the Floo network.   
  
"Ginny," said Hermione wearily. "I need help."   
  
Ginny sprung up from her seat at the kitchen table and beamed. She knew what was up. She had practically been counting down the hours to when Hermione would call for her help. She grabbed her purse and shouted "I'll be right there!" and "I'm going out shopping with Hermione, Harry!" before Disapparating to Hermione's flat.   
  
Hermione turned around to see Ginny in a bubble of excitement, standing by her door, barely containing herself.   
  
"Come on! Get dressed! We're going shopping!"   
  
Hermione absolutely hated shopping, unless it was for books. She sighed, tugged at her plain shirt and old jeans, and took Ginny's proffered hand. The red-haired girl grinned and Disapparated once more.   
  
"Where are we?" said Hermione at once as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings. She had a feeling they weren't in London anymore, let alone England.   
  
"Hermione dear, welcome to Paris, France! The shopping capital of the world!" Ginny straightened her dress and then dragged an unwilling Hermione through the sunlit streets.   
  
"I come here every time I need something fancy," Ginny explained, taking Hermione through an alleyway.   
  
"Er…Gin—" Hermione tried to say.   
  
"This is the absolute best place to shop for something like a masquerade," Ginny continued, stomping over some stubborn weeds that had grown through the cracks of the sidewalk.   
  
"Ginny, why are we in a dark, scary alley?" Hermione asked as they came to a halt at the end of the alley.   
  
"Because," said Ginny, pulling out her wand and tapping a certain brick three times, "this is the entrance to Diagon Alley of Paris."   
  
The wall began moving and formed an archway, and Ginny wasted no time in pulling Hermione through.   
  
"Ta-da!" Ginny announced, beaming.   
  
It was indeed a "ta-da" moment. Hermione's mouth dropped open at the sight of the fancy magical shops and the stylishly dressed wizards and witches bustling throughout. Hermione caught a few French words from a cliquey group of girls standing a few feet away.   
  
_"Oui! Je vais aller a la boum pour le bachelor."_  
  
_"Vraiment? Moi aussi! Tu peux faire du shopping avec moi!"_  
  
_"Allons-y!"_  

Hermione watched as they skipped away and realized she had probably just met some of her fellow contestants. She couldn't help but feel her heart sink as she watched their silver-blonde hair rippling in the sunlight. How could she compete with girls like them?   
  
Ginny waited patiently for Hermione's stunned speechlessness to end. When it did not, she said, "I know, it's amazing, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Ginny dashed into a store called Tres Jolie with Hermione at her heels.   
  
"Time to find the perfect dress!" Ginny said excitedly, clapping her hands together.   
  
It took a grand total of eight hours. In between the fancy stores, Ginny also forced Hermione to buy casual but pretty clothes for dates and such. They bought shoes, purses, and jewelry. Hermione repeatedly handed over her precious gold Galleons, wincing each time her moneybag became a little lighter. She caught sight of the French girls again, but didn't bother listening to their conversation to try and translate it into English. It had been a while since she studied French. Five hours in they found The Dress.   
  
Oh yes. Not just any dress, but The Dress.   
  
They found it at a small boutique tucked away in a corner of the shopping avenue. The lady assured them that it was handmade, one-of-a-kind. The Dress was made of deep purple silk. It went with Hermione's dark brown hair perfectly, and it made her pale skin glow. It hugged the curves she had been blessed with, showing them off. It was simple, but very elegant. Another hour later, they found a mask to go with it. The mask was purple as well, studded with small diamonds.   
  
After all the shopping, Ginny sent the packages back to Hermione's flat with a wave of her wand.   
  
"Can I go home now?" Hermione begged, dropping down onto a bench to let her poor feet rest.   
  
"Of course not! We still need to get you a haircut and a manicure and a pedicure and a facial…." Ginny pulled Hermione to her feet and led her to a fancy spa.   
  
Another two hours later, Hermione was completely and totally beautified. Her hair was silky and wavy and cut into layers, though it was still long. Her fingernails, gnawed to the quick due to various bouts of stress, were filed and polished. Her face was fresh and glowing with health.   
  
Ginny sighed happily. "Perfect. Now, I order you to take the day off tomorrow and simply rest. Got that?"   
  
Hermione nodded. She was unable to get rid of the silly smile that was now planted on her face. A few hours at the spa do wonders.   
  
…   
  
The next morning, Hermione followed Ginny's advice and lounged around the house relaxing. As she drank a cup of tea and finished reading  _Pride and Prejudice_  for the thousandth time, she allowed herself to fall into a lovely daydream involving herself and the mysterious bachelor. He would be handsome and tall and strong. He would be charming and chivalrous. He would be intelligent as well, someone who was capable of keeping her interest in a spirited and lively conversation. He would also be an avid reader, like she was. Now Hermione's imagination zoomed into overdrive and she pictured a wedding she had always dreamed of, with the no-longer-a-bachelor at her side; a honeymoon that involved touring the entire world; and a lovely house with a spacious library for all her—their—books. Fast-forward a few years, and Hermione imagined herself in the backyard, lounging on a blanket while her husband held her in his arms, watching their two perfect children play.   
  
The sound of someone knocking sharply at her door interrupted her thoughts. She opened the door and found herself staring at a bouquet of a dozen red roses.   
  
"For you," said the florist abruptly. He stomped back down to his truck, where Hermione could see dozens of identical bouquets in the back, waiting to be delivered.   
  
She looked down at the tag. It read, _I have no idea who you are, but I cannot wait to meet you. See you at the ball tomorrow night, at seven o' clock!_  
  
How sweet! Flowers! Hermione smiled, sniffed the roses, and placed them carefully in a glass vase that she had never used before.   
  
Although she tried very hard not to show it, she was actually excited for the ball. 


	3. Hermione Arrives at the Ball

The morning of the masquerade, Hermione received a call from her boss at the International Magical Office of Law. Her boss was a very kind old man, though he occasionally exploded in anger.

"Where were you yesterday, Miss Granger?" he shouted. Hermione walked over to the fireplace with her breakfast.

"I asked for a day off," said Hermione calmly. "Bacon?"

"Oh, go on."

"I would also like to be excused from work for the duration of…er…a couple months."

Her boss almost spat the bacon back out. "What? Why?"

"I'm going to be on a show called  _The Game of Love_. Have you heard of it? Of course…" said Hermione, trailing off as she remembered the pair of perfect French girls she had glimpsed the other day, "…if I get eliminated early on, I'll come straight back to work."

"Oh. I see. Very well…you are my best lawyer, Miss Granger, and I should definitely allow you a chance to be on this lovely—er, entertaining show…"

Hermione hid a smile. "So you are familiar with _The Game of Love_ , then, Mr. Macmillan?"

Her boss turned a deep shade of red and turned around. "Oh, yes, Ernie, I'm coming. I must go now, my son is calling me…and good luck."

"Thank you, sir." Mr. Macmillan vanished.

Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation, nerves, and sheer excitement run down her spine. Tonight she would finally be able to see who the bachelor was.

… 

A young man with white-blond hair lounged in a green dragon-skin chaise in an opulent room, his arms behind his head. A rather silly grin was plastered on his face. Tonight the manor was going to be filled with fifty beautiful women, and he was free to pick and choose among them. No competition.

Then again, he thought to himself arrogantly, if there were other men in the room he'd still have no competition. His family still had plenty of old money, and he himself had turned quite the profit while playing the Wizarding Stock Market. He knew he was very handsome. He had a lean, muscular frame, skin that was pale as porcelain and smooth as silk, and sharp light gray eyes. He was intelligent, charming, and funny (or at least he thought his jokes were funny). What's not to love? 

His mother knocked on the door at that moment, soft and tentative. 

"Come in," he said, putting down the book he had just picked up. 

"My dear," she said, tucking an errant strand of long blonde hair behind her ear. "Are you ready for tonight? You must be very excited."

“Of course I am,” he replied smoothly. “This is going to be the best thing that's ever happened to me."

His mother nodded slowly. "Yes, it is. This is our chance to save the family name…your chance to show the world that we are not Death Eaters anymore. Now that your father," she paused, her face tightening, "is gone, we can act without fear. We can clear up any doubts by going through with this...affair."

“And don’t forget,” he said impatiently, “I get to meet fifty women in a single night, and they all want me."

His mother frowned slightly. "Now, dear, don't be so conceited. None of these girls know who you are. If they knew your name, and your past, I'm certain that at least a few of them would walk out of the room right away."

The young man frowned too. “No, I don’t think so. Honestly, Mother, who would pass up the chance to date me?" Catching the look on his mother's face, he added hastily, "I mean, yes Mother, I'll be charming and polite like the gentleman I am."

His mother couldn’t help but smile. After the war had ended and the Dark Lord had been vanquished, it had taken two entire years for her son to completely heal from all the torture he had been put through. It took much longer for him to be able to trust again, let alone love again. They had stayed out of the public eye during that entire time, keeping to themselves. It was only a year ago that he finally started acting like the same confident boy he had been before he was given that task in his sixth year. She had been instrumental in this transformation, constantly buffering and bolstering his ego. Now she was afraid that she had gone a bit too far.

The young man picked up the book that was lying on the mahogany coffee table.  _Pride and Prejudice_.

So he did have a thoughtful, sensitive side, she thought, relieved. 

"I will talk to you later, my dear," she said, and left the room. 

… 

It had rained recently, and moisture hung in the air. Hermione carefully got out of the Muggle cab she had hired to get her to the location of the ball. She felt a little silly as limousines lined up behind her but ignored the other girls, paid the driver (whose expression suggested that he had recently been doused with a bucket of cold water), and started up the long cobblestone drive. At the end of the drive was an impressive, stately mansion. Hermione had to stop and gaze around her in wonder. The large ornate windows glowed with candlelight. Ivy clung to the huge columns. Gothic-style carvings decorated the exterior. There were statues and fountains and tall, imposing hedges everywhere. Hermione thought she even caught a glimpse of a white peacock strutting around. Where was she? It seemed to be an aristocrat's manor. She felt awfully out of place.

" _Pardon_ ," someone said, and Hermione felt herself being shoved aside. She caught her balance before she fell over and turned toward the girl who had pushed her, but she was already halfway up the drive, holding up her pink skirt and gracefully dodging rain puddles. Silvery-blonde hair floated behind her. Hermione huffed angrily and made her way to the mansion, ignoring the girls in groups of two and three around her.

The butler bowed his head after she gave him her name. While he checked the list, she studied the intricate _M_ emblem embroidered to his uniform. Where had she seen that before?

"Welcome, Miss Granger."

"Granger?!" a familiar voice shrieked. Hermione turned to see a livid Pansy Parkinson moving furiously toward her, but she was stopped by the butler. Undeterred, she shouted at Hermione, "What's a Mudblood doing here?"

Someone standing near Hermione gasped. Hermione turned and saw a girl with silvery-blonde hair, but she wasn't the one who had pushed her.

" _Excusez-moi_? What sort of language eez zat?"

Hermione was annoyed for some reason. "I can defend myself, thank you very much." She turned to Pansy. "Pansy, believe it or not, I am here for the ball. I was given the chance to meet the bachelor—just like you. There’s no need to call me a Mudblood. We're not at Hogwarts anymore. Besides, Voldemort's gone. The war is over. Blood doesn't matter."

"You—" Pansy slapped the butler's arm, which was still blocking her way. "Move, you idiot! It's started to rain again! My hair!" Pansy shrieked and ran inside. She shot a nasty glare at Hermione before dashing into a nearby bathroom. 

Other girls outside started to cry in dismay as the summer storm released all its fury. Great big drops of rain came pelting down, creating a rather dismal atmosphere for the ball. The butler nearly got trampled as a stampede of girls rushed in. 

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" said Hermione exasperatedly as several dripping wet girls rushed past her, crying. "You know, there's a simple spell you could all use. _Impervius_!" She aimed her wand at the crowd at random. 

A relieved girl with long dark hair smiled at Hermione. "Thank you so much—oh! Hermione! I wasn't expecting to see you here!" 

"Parvati!" Hermione gave her fellow Gryffindor a hug. "At last, a friendly face."

Parvati Patil nodded understandingly. "As I was walking up here, all I heard was French. It's like the Triwizard tournament all over again, with those Beauxbatons girls. And Pansy Parkinson!" Parvati wrinkled her nose. "Why on earth would they pick someone like her to meet the bachelor?" 

They walked toward the ballroom as they talked, but both of them were stunned into an awed silence when they saw the location for the evening's festivities. Rain continued to lash at the windows, but the warmth of the enchanted candles and the exquisite décor but the weather at the back of Hermione's mind. The ballroom was huge. The floor was pure white marble, set with precious rainbow-colored gems. Exotic flower arrangements with live birds floated in midair, a few feet above Hermione's head. A small band was setting up on a stage complete with red velvet curtains. It was amazing.

"Hermione, have I told you, you look stunning," said Parvati kindly.

"Thank you," said Hermione. "So do you."

"I agree, you look  _très belle_ ," said a voice behind Hermione. It was the French girl who had defended her just a moment ago. Her voice held a tiny hint of sarcasm, as if suggesting that Hermione's personality wasn't  _très belle_  at all. 

"Oh, hello! Listen, I'm so sorry I snapped at you earlier. You were just trying to help. I was just annoyed at Pansy. Can we start all over?" said Hermione. She did not want to start the competition with enemies.

The French girl smiled brilliantly. " _Oui_! I am Isabelle Delacour. And you two are?"

"Hermione Granger. This is Parvati Patil. But wait, did you say Delacour?"

"Oui. Do you know my cousin, Fleur? She visited 'Ogwarts a few years ago."

"Oh! Yes, I know Fleur. She’s married to one of my best friend’s brothers.” Hermione smiled warmly at Isabelle. 

"Sally-Anne! Susan! Lisa!" Parvati cried suddenly and bid a hasty good-bye to Hermione before going off to greet other familiar faces from Hogwarts. Hermione, not knowing any of them particularly well, stayed with Isabelle.

Nearly an hour had passed since Hermione had arrived, and she started wondering how much longer she would have to wait to meet the bachelor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor edits were made to the original version of this chapter.


	4. The Masquerade

“Excuse me, may I have everyone’s attention please!” A thin, middle-aged man made his way to the front of the gathering crowd, tapping his throat with his wand to magically amplify his voice.

“I would like to apologize profusely for the rain. I can help you find your true love, but I cannot control the weather." There was polite laughter, and the man smiled. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“My name is Claude Beaumont, and I am so pleased that all of you could be here. Welcome to _The Game of Love_! The bachelor will be coming out very soon, but here are some general rules. First of all, take a moment to put on your mask now. For the rest of the evening, you may not remove your mask until you are told to do so.”

Hermione positioned her purple mask over her eyes and used her wand to tie the ribbon into a neat bow behind her head.

“You may not inform the bachelor of your identity,” Monsieur Beaumont continued. “I understand that some of you have already introduced yourselves to your fellow contestants. That is fine, but just be careful not to reveal who you are to the bachelor until the unmasking ceremony. Secondly, please do ignore the cameras. If a cameraman asks you for an interview, you may oblige or decline. Do not feel nervous because of the cameras. You all look very lovely, I assure you. And lastly, note that only half of you will remain at the end of the night. This is not the time to play hard to get, as they say. Enjoy yourselves! _Au revoir_!" He turned around and disappeared from the ballroom.

The band began to play a light waltz.

"Zis is rather silly," said a heavily French-accented voice, but it wasn't Isabelle. It was the girl who had pushed Hermione. "Only one man and fifty women. And zey call it a ball. 'Ow do zey expect us to be entertained?"

"Georgina! How are you?" said Isabelle, though a little reluctantly.

"Fine. I 'ope ze bachelor eez worth waiting for. Zis masquerade eez terribly boring. 'Oo are you?" she said suddenly to Hermione.

"Oh, er, I'm Hermione. Pleased to meet you." Hermione stuck out her hand out of politeness, but the girl, Georgina, disregarded her as though she were a bothersome fly. "I'm off to find Genevieve. 'Ave you seen her, Isabelle?"

Isabelle shook her head, and Georgina walked away gracefully. 

Hermione stared after her. She couldn't decide who was more beautiful, Isabelle or Georgina. She deduced that Isabelle was part veela due to her connection with Fleur Delacour, and she suspected that Georgina had veela blood as well. She suddenly felt quite inadequate.

A few gasps and a flurry of excited murmurs alerted Hermione to the arrival of the bachelor. From a distance, Hermione could make out the fact that he was tall, thin, and had very light blond hair. Though she couldn’t see his face, he looked rather handsome in his black tuxedo. She felt her heart start to beat faster.

He slowly made his way through the crowd of excited girls, pausing to kiss cheeks and grasp hands. It felt like a very long time had passed before he reached Hermione and Isabelle.

"Good evening, ladies," he drawled. Hermione frowned for a second, reflexively, before she caught herself and forced a pleasant smile onto her face once more. That voice was too familiar…

“’Ow do you do?" said Isabelle, curtsying and holding out her hand. He kissed it. 

"Pleased to meet you," said Hermione. She almost told him her name, but caught herself just in time. She looked directly at the bachelor’s face, and gray eyes met brown. He was wearing a black mask with silver designs that matched his eyes perfectly. A shiver ran down her spine. She was almost certain that she had met this man before, but it had been so long since she had last seen him that she couldn’t be sure. At least six years, in fact…

The band struck another tune. He tilted his head toward Hermione. "May I have this dance?" 

"Yes, you may," she said, as confidently as possible. She allowed herself to be lead to the dance floor. Shouldn't she feel pleased that she was asked for the first dance? Dozens of envious faces told her so. She found Isabelle in the crowd and was surprised to see that the French girl seemed to be happy for her. 

She placed one hand on his shoulder, while he put one arm around her waist and drew her closer to him. His warmth radiated through her dress. He smelled tantalizing. It was too close for comfort, for Hermione at least. She willed herself not to trip over her own feet—she really wasn’t much of a dancer.

“Since I’m not permitted to know your name, how should I get to know you?" he said with a sort of swagger in his voice.

"Why don't you start by asking what my favorite color is?" She was still distracted by thoughts of who he might be, but she could flirt, for the time being. 

He raised an eyebrow and gazed at her dress, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second too long on her chest. "I would hazard a guess that it’s purple." 

Hermione felt her face heat up under his scrutiny. "Oh, Gi—I mean, my friend picked this dress for me. My favorite color is actually deep red…and gold."

"Ah…a Gryffindor.”

Was it possible that he knew who she was? If he did, he certainly didn't show it. 

"My favorite color is green." He smirked, and her heart skipped a beat. That smirk—hadn't she seen that smirk a hundred times before, at Hogwarts? No, it couldn’t be…

"A Slytherin," said Hermione quietly, while her heart fluttered madly.

“What do you like to do for fun?” he asked now. 

“I enjoy reading," said Hermione automatically. It was a good thing he wasn’t asking difficult questions, because she had to focus on keeping her breathing even. "And yourself?” 

"Quidditch. Although reading comes in at a close second." 

Hermione stared. That was unexpected.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he whispered in her ear as the song drew to a close. His breath on her skin felt wonderful. She had expected herself to cringe. "But I'm afraid I have to meet the other women before they start a riot." 

"Of course," said Hermione, curtsying. "It was a pleasure dancing with you." He released her, smirked again, and she left the dance floor, hoping that no one else could see her hands shaking. 

Parvati ran to her side first. "So, how was it? Is he nice?" 

Hermione nodded distractedly. "I think…” she began faintly before stopping herself. Was it wise to tell the other former Hogwarts students who she thought the bachelor was? “Um, never mind."

"Okay," said Parvati a little disappointedly. Hermione smiled inwardly. The girl was as eager for gossip as her Hogwarts days. The other women in the vicinity who had been eavesdropping immediately turned their attention back to the bachelor, who was now dancing with a radiant Georgina. 

The night passed at a slow pace after that. Hermione mingled half-heartedly with the other women, replaying her brief conversation with the bachelor over and over in her head. She wondered if she would get to speak with him again tonight. After all, the bachelor had fifty women to dance with—he surely would not have the time to dance with anyone a second time.

She was wrong. As the clock struck nine, the bachelor appeared before her again.

"Do you mind?" he asked, rather abruptly. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her to her feet and led her to the center of the floor again. Hermione felt dizzy even though they hadn't even started to spin yet. Just being in the presence of this man made her feel this way. It was disconcerting.

“Are you all right?” she asked, concerned at his apparent irritation and agitation.

His hand stiffened in hers before relaxing again. ”My apologies,” he said, once they started dancing. "It's just that Pans—I mean, that woman over there—the only reason she’s here is because she knows my mother. And now her father has bribed Claude, so I'm forced to give her a rose tonight."

There was no mistaking the fact that he was talking about Pansy. 

Hermione didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but the bachelor forged on. “I thought tonight would go a bit differently, to be honest. It’s rather exhausting meeting fifty women in one night.” He chuckled ruefully.

Hermione’s mind was racing. One minute, he seemed exactly like the boy he had been Hogwarts. But the next, he seemed completely different.

They continued dancing through the next song, and the next. Hermione had no idea what they talked about, but she was very aware of the jealous stares boring into the back of her head. 

At the beginning of the third song, he murmured, "I could swear I've heard your voice before. Did I go to Hogwarts with you? Were we in the same year?"

Hermione's throat went dry. "I was a sixth year when Albus Dumbledore died,” she whispered.

The bachelor immediately tensed, stopping short and dropping his arms to his sides. His eyes had gone from a light gray, almost silver, to a dark, stormy color that matched the sky outside. “Thank you for the dance,” he said stiffly, and then strode away.

It was all Hermione needed, the final verification. She could feel angry tears burning the inside of her eyelids as she hurried away towards the edge of the ballroom, away from _him_. But she couldn't escape the prying eyes and the gossip that traveled through the room like wildfire. 

"Whatever eez the matter?” said Isabelle, concerned. 

Hermione dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. "Nothing." 

The other women around her were whispering furiously.

"What did she do?"

"Did you see that? He just left her in the middle of the dance floor."

"She must've offended him somehow.”

"Maybe he’s finally realized that she's a Mudblood," said a scornful voice. Hermione turned around to see Pansy sneering at her. 

Hermione's fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. She had almost withdrawn her wand when the lights dimmed and a spotlight shined down from up above, focusing on Claude Beaumont. 

"Attention, ladies! The time has come. Our handsome bachelor will choose exactly twenty-five women to continue." He nodded towards the bachelor, who nodded back. Monsieur Beaumont waved his wand, and twenty-five roses appeared, floating in midair. He waved his wand again, and Hermione watched as twenty-five roses flew into the air.

To Hermione's immense surprise, one of the roses veered straight towards her. She grasped the rose in her hand. 

Hermione gazed at the rose dubiously. After all that, he still chose to give her a rose. But why? A part of her wanted to stay and find out, but another part of her wanted to leave and never come back. 

"If you did not receive a rose, I am very sorry, but you must depart now. If you did receive a rose, then congratulations. Please come forward and remove your masks."

This was the moment.

Hermione stayed put as the other twenty-four women stepped forward, each trying to get as close to the bachelor as possible. She stood at the back of the crowd, and yet, his eyes were on hers.

It was as if they were the only two people in the room.

Gathering all her Gryffindor courage, Hermione stood straight as she pulled the purple ribbon loose and let the mask fall from her face.

The bachelor did the same, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. He gazed at her impassively.

“Draco Malfoy,” she whispered. And then she turned and ran from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I've made some edits to the original version of this chapter.


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